The Ones in War
by Dewfall
Summary: Veteran's Day oneshot.  America reminisces about the brave soldiers who had died in war, and of the tragedy that tore a family apart.


America's eyes were not on him anymore.

England had seen him like this before, but the days leading up to November 11 were some of the worst. At times, no matter how loud England's shouting got, America was lost in the memories of his war, snapping only briefly out of his trance to apologize, only to return to staring into space.

America never apologized.

Especially not when he was with England.

But today, November 11th, was pretty bad. England had seen this so many times, after each war, after each battle. England knew that America was remembering all of the soldiers who had died in the many wars of the past.

And this time, he knew that America was mourning again, for that soldier whose name he could not bear to forget.

* * *

It was amazing, America thought, that after so many years, years that blended together and melted into an endless stream of images, that there was one person he could not forget.

One soldier, whose name and face was engraved in his mind.

It was during the Civil War, along the Union border. That was all that he could remember. It was late summer, and the sun beat across everyone's backs. America remembered taking a drink of much-needed water, and mentally reminded himself to check rations. But he knew that money and supplies were tight, and they could not last much longer. Already, he could feel that burning in his chest, the pain of his men dying, the sorrow and pain of the families the war had torn apart.

But he had to fight.

And still, some water was better than none, right? He took another swig when suddenly he noticed a figure coming along their border. "Hey," America pointed out, nudging the man beside him. "Look at that."

America had liked the man who had then stood beside him; the soldier was young, energetic, and always had a smile on his face. "Little Charlie", the men had dubbed him, and it suited him well. He was smaller than most because of his age, but made up for it with his shooting skills. Charlie turned towards the direction the other man was pointing. The figure was coming slowly up the hill where the troops were set up, holding something long and thin in its hands. How come no one had seen him yet? America wondered.

"Looks like an enemy soldier to me. Look, he's not wearing the Union uniform!" It was true. America squinted at the man. He looked familiar to the nation, but he was wearing the Confederacy jacket...

"How much do ya bet that I can hit him?" Charlie looked over to him with a grin. He loaded his rifle, aimed for the slowly growing figure, and fired.

At that moment, America realized why the figure, no, the person looked so familiar. "Don't sho-"

_Bang._

The figure collapsed onto the ground, kicking up dust clouds around it. America was up in a flash, dragging Charlie along with him to the place where the person, no, man, fell.

"What-" Charlie started, only to widen his eyes in shock and fall to his knees where the corpse of the Confederate soldier fell, a rolled up message still in hand.

America could only stand besides him, numb in shock, even though he had felt thousands of his men die in war, in battles so bloody that the ground was stained red.

He knew now why the man looked so familiar, as Charlie cradled the dead man in his arms. That same red hair, the same build of the shoulders.

It was his brother, who had moved to South Carolina, five years ago.

* * *

England watched as America relived the memories of past wars. Not just Charlie, though. All the men and women who had given up their lives to save _him_. And even when their names and faces blurred together, England knew he still felt the pain of losing them. All of his children.

He knew, because England felt that pain too.

As America shook himself free from the last of his memories, England gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He asked gently.

America just gave a sad smile and shrugged.

"You don't need to keep it in, you know. Even with your hero nonsense, well, heroes need a shoulder to cry on sometimes too. We all feel your pain." England said quietly.

America looked surprised for a moment, and smiled, a _real_ smile this time. "Thanks."

They spent the rest of the day reminiscing, England relieved, and America silently thanking each and every soldier, dead or alive, for the services they had given during war.

* * *

**Author's note: I wanted to write something for Veteran's Day, so...here it is. I didn't really get to edit much, but comments and criticism are always appreciated!**

**No, it is NOT historically accurate. Though the part about brothers killing each other in the Civil War is true, this is not based off any real brothers. And if you notice that something is niot historically accurate/plausible, please correct me. Thanks!**

**Why can I only write oneshots? My longer fanfics are not going well (maybe because I didn't write a lot for them...)**

**Thanks for reading!  
**


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